Sailor Mouth Saturday: Bugger

Let us just get the unpleasantness out of the way so that we can move on. Today's word is bugger and yes it does mean what you think it means. No reason to dance around it. They didn't refer to the Royal Navy as being built on rum, buggery and the lash just for giggles. Sometimes a man gets lonely and a goat looks pretty. I'll leave it at that.


The actual origin of the term is pretty hard to get your fist around - no pun intended. Webster's doesn't even give an original language or colloquialism. I've an idea though if you will indulge me.

Beginning in the Middle Ages, seafarers from Brittany in France fished out of small, two masted and square rigged vessels that were called "bugalets" by the English. Doubtless this is a corruption of a French term now lost to the ages (chime in on the comments if you know!) but by the 17th century even the French called such a boat a bugalet.

The name for the little boat was shortened to "bug" by the Elizabethan era. This held a derogatory connotation that could not be missed so it began to be used more broadly to indicate a vessel that was bigger than its capability. In other words a bug was a ship that looked impressive but was only marginal in maneuverability and speed.

In particular the derision was cast onto the Spanish galleon. These were originally caravels, like the painting shown above, that grew larger and more rounded in design until they became the Spanish Armada kind of galleon shown at the header of this post. They were handsome, could carry a grand compliment of men, cannon and treasure, but they weren't going anywhere fast and turning on a dime was right out. When Sir Francis Drake first encountered this type of ship at Cadiz he called them "mere great bugges". Nothing to worry about, in other words.

Of course, we all know that the enemy - whoever they are - is more prone to vile and unthinkable habits than we will ever be. Therefor, it wasn't much of a stretch to imagine that those aboard the bugs were buggers prone to buggery. The idea and the word stuck until, by the 18th century, a man could be flogged or even hanged for such an offense with the term being use specifically in the court documentation.

Is that how we really got the word? I can't say for sure but I will say that it is very likely indeed. Happy Saturday, Brethren. And keep your mouth clean.

Home Ports: On The Turtle's Back

There are a lot of islands named Tortuga in the Caribbean and beyond. Most notable, I think, is the touristy/resorty Tortuga Island off the coast of Costa Rica. That one claims a piratical heritage and doubtless some freebooters stopped there to freshen their water now and again. That claim, though, is largely for the tourist trade and I'd bet money you'll see wannabes swaggering around wearing eye makeup and speaking with fake British accents. Don't get me started. The real Turtle Island, as far as our pals the boucaniers were concerned, is located off the coast of what used to be known as Hispanola and what is now Haiti/Dominican Republic.

How the buccaneers came to the little island that is quite literally shaped like a turtle is a convoluted story of Spanish hatred for anyone that wasn't Spanish. When an English adventurer named Warner and a French privateer named Belain agreed to establish a settlement on St. Christopher Island (now St. Kitts), the Spanish took note. When the island became a haven for buccaneers, the Spanish sent men and arms to route out the hated foreigners. In 1629 a huge contingent descended on the island, killing or taking prisoner most of the population. Those who escaped went to Hispanola where they were again attacked. Now the buccaneers were pissed.

The boys moved to Tortuga del Mar, the island they called Ile de la Tortue, just off the coast and they settled in to take their revenge. They booted or killed any Spanish they found, got chummy with the local Arawak natives and started a campaign of striking out against Spanish ships in small, easily maneuverable canoes and pinnaces. In 1635, when French pirate Pierre le Grand appeared on the scene, things really heated up. He began attacking Spanish treasure galleons from a light sloop and the other buccaneers soon followed his lead.

Of course, the Spanish would have none of that. A raid on the island in 1638 nearly wiped out the largely French as well as Dutch and English population. The remaining citizens appealed to the re-established and now fortified French settlement on St. Christopher for help. Jean le Vasseur was sent as Governor of Tortuga and he built a stone fortress overlooking the main harbor. He armed his outpost with 40 guns and provided letters of marque to the buccaneers, encouraging them to raid Spanish shipping and towns along the Main in the name of France. The heyday of the boucaniers was on the horizon.

The Spanish, who were nothing if not tenacious, laid siege to the fort and effectively starved out the population, sending those they captured back to France in 1654. Some of the buccaneers escaped, however, and they waited on St. Christopher and Jamaica waiting for the opportunity to return to what they considered their home.

That opportunity arose when England attacked Jamaica in 1655. The Spanish ships and troops on Tortuga were called to action and the buccaneers returned to their old port from which they plied their trade for another ten years. The island was a base for respectable privateers like Michel de Grammont and infamous pirates such as Francois L'Olonnais.

In 1665 the island of Hispanola officially became the French holding St. Domingue and Ile de la Tortue came under French control. The buccaneers slowly morphed into the pirates of the Golden Age and Tortuga was replaced by first Port Royal, Jamaica and then New Providence (now Nassau) in the Bahamas as a major base. It remained in use by pirates and privateers into the early 19th century, however. My privateer hero Dominique Youx told stories of spending time on the lovely Turtle Island.

Isle de la Tortue is one of the blue pins on my travel map. Someday, I'll got there. I'll speak French, though. No British accents allowed.

History: Black Sam Bellamy's Whydah

My husband had the good fortune to hear Barry Clifford speak yesterday. Barry is the man who led the initial discovery of one of the most intact pirate wrecks found to date and who is still leading the salvage operation off Cape Cod. He told the crowd, among other things, that his crew most probably has yet to uncover the majority of the "treasure" involved despite the vast amount they have already hauled up. In this case, of course, treasure means not only actual coins, gold and cetera but everyday objects - from clay pipes to cannons - that are invaluable to our knowledge of 18th century sailing, slave ships and piracy.


This got me thinking about the last Captain of Whydah - Black Sam Bellamy - and how ironic it is that his ship should be the focus of this enormous salvage operation. Its one of those serendipitous coincidences that makes history so fascinating.

Samuel Bellamy was born in Devonshire, England and, although little is known of his youth, it is probably safe to say that he went to sea as a boy or very young man. At some point he made his way to the Caribbean and the general consensus among historians is that by 1715 he was working off the coast of Florida in what was known as the "wracking trade". These operations generally worked out of Port Royal, Jamaica and involved hiring pearl divers who had escaped from the pearl farms in Venezuela. The men, who could hold their breath for extended periods, were taken aboard ship to the last known position of a wreck - a Spanish treasure galleon in Bellamy's case - and the salvage of valuables began.

Bellamy fell out with the commander of the operation and turned to piracy. The same year he was aboard Benjamin Hornigold's sloop Mary Anne along with another historical legend - Edward Teach. Hornigold wasn't aggressive enough for Bellamy and the future Blackbeard, however, and by August of 1716 Teach had his own ship and Bellamy had been elected Captain of Mary Anne.

Bellamy liked to trade up as far as ships were concerned and, as he took larger prizes, he moved in to them and either abandon his prior flagship or turned it over to a subordinate. Eventually, he had a small pirate squadron in tow. In February of 1717, Bellamy and his crew took Whydah, an 18 gun English slaver commanded by Lawrence Price. She was on the third leg of the slave triangle and carrying all the spoils of her miserable business back to England. Along with hard coin that would amount to approximately three million in modern dollars, she also carried ivory, sugar, indigo and gold dust. Quite a haul indeed.

Sam moved right in to Whydah and - after generously giving Captain Price and his crew his previous ship and even some cash to see them home - he turned for Virginia. A storm blew Whydah north again but it was nothing like what they would encounter off the coast of Cape Cod. The evening of May 17, 1717 a hard nor'easter struck New England. Bellamy's pirate squadron was decimated including his treasure laden Whydah. She struck a sand bar and began to break apart, finally capsizing in the heavy surf. All but two of her 145 souls, including Bellamy, drown. The smaller ships suffered a similar fate with only five other pirates surviving. Six of the seven were hanged in Boston later that year.

Barry Clifford - himself in the "wracking trade" - discovered the wreck of Whydah in 1984. Much of what has been returned to land so far is on display at Provincetown in Cape Cod. More information about the National Geographic field museum is at this terrific site. Be sure you have a little time to really check it out. There's a lot to see and read.

Clifford and Bellamy. Two treasure hunters separated by 250 years. One wonders how the conversation would go if they could sit down over a jug of rum. I'd like to be a fly on that wall.

Tools of the Trade: Careful What Ya Call Me

Generally speaking, history tells us that pirates and their ilk had nasty tempers. I have not only imaginings but a fair amount of historical evidence that tells me certain gentlemen in the trade (and perhaps the ladies too) would go off half cocked when called an out and out pirate. Particularly in public. Henry Morgan shot men for it. Francois L'Olonais cut tongues out over it. And I like to imagine Anne Bonny refusing her favors to guys that used her name and the term in the same sentence.

The words that apply to the trade get mixed up and interchanged, like a bad tossed salad. Triple P is here, if for no other reason, to set the record straight. (Plus I'm sick as a dog and not quite prepared to be particularly eloquent.) So here's a handy list for your perusal.

Pirate: a sea-robber. Comparable to the old term applied to land robbers: highwayman. There is no commission legitimizing the taking of prizes in the case of a pirate. Pirate may refer to the individual or the ship pursuing such activity. It must be noted, I think, that many so called privateers slipped into the realm of pirate at one point or another in their careers.

Privateer: a private ship fitted out by its owner to cruise against and enemy. The captain is granted sanction to do so by his government via a letter of marque which may be revoked if its parameters are violated (i.e., if the ship takes prizes from countries other than the one named). Privateer, again, may refer to the ship or the man. The key here is the letter of marque and the fact that a prize is not legitimate until it is libelled in court, with a tenth of the booty going to the admiralty or the government.

Corsair: the English word for a French privateer - corsaire.

Buccaneer: originally, this word had nothing to do with sea roving. It came from the French word boucanier. Many former French indentured servants migrated to the Island of Hispanola in the mid-17th century where they earned their keep by hunting the wild game on the island. The local Arawak natives taught the men how to smoke the meat to preserve it. A boucan was the traditional smokehouse used for the purpose. When the Frenchmen, along with some Dutch and English folks as well, went to sea the word followed them and was Anglicized as buccaneer. They were, for the most part, pirates with a particular hatred for their former Spanish overlords that led them to raid not only shipping but towns along the Spanish Main as well.

Freebooter: another English term for the French buccaneer or corsair which originally had a particular contemptuous connotation.

Filibuster: started out as another term for buccaneer and morphed in meaning during the various wars for Central and South American independence. A filibuster became any seaman or soldier of fortune who engaged in warfare, against a state that his country of origin was not at war with, for financial gain. It was further convoluted in the 19th century to referred to not only individual mercenaries but groups of speculators who supplied arms to new countries like Mexico and Texas in exchange for cash. From there, it started clogging up Congress and does to this day.

Sea dog: the Elizabethan privateers such as Drake and Hawkins.

Sea rovers: generally pirates but sometimes applied to privateers as well.

Sea wolves: almost exclusively privateers.

Swashbuckler: this word is not a literary invention but its application to the trade is. In the 16th century a swashbuckler was a highwayman or bandit who lay in wait for unsuspecting travelers and robbed them on the road. In the late 18th and early 19th century, Romantic novelists began using the term to refer to sea robbers upon whom they were casting an ambiguously titillating light. There are novels from the mid-1800s that frequently refer to Edward Teach and Jean Laffite as swashbucklers. And the ladies swooned.

Learn 'em, know 'em, live 'em, Brethren, and spice up your language appropriately. Just be careful who you call a "pirate". Or learn the hard way.

Pathetic Pirates: The Other Rock

My daughter is in love with one man - her Dad - and infatuated with two others: Wolverine (the cartoon character, not Hugh Jackman) and Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson. When I told her I was doing a post today about a pathetic pirate she asked who. When I said "A guy named Rock," she came unglued. It took me five minutes of exposition and showing her the picture above to get her to calm down. Mr. Johnson, your honor as anything but pathetic was ably defended by my ten year old before the sun even crested the mountains. Just FYI.

The buccaneer pictured above was known as Rock Brasilliano in English and Roche Braziliano in French and Spanish. He was born in Holland some time in the early 17th century and emigrated to Brazil in mid-century with other beneficiaries of the wealthy West India Company of Amsterdam. Rock, a sturdy little guy who got his nickname because of his stocky build, settled in to what he hoped would be a nice life as a colonist in South America. Too bad the Vatican had other ideas.

In 1654 the Pope rather arbitrarily turned Brazil over to the Portuguese and ordered that all "heretics" be unilaterally booted from the country. Interestingly, only Protestants fell under the heretic umbrella (the natives, no doubt, being too darn useful as slaves to scatter hither and yon) and Rock was one of them. Now a man without a country Rock, like so many of his fellows, made his way to the Jamaican city of Port Royal. The change over from Spanish to English rule occurred not long after and within a year our Puritan privateer Christopher Myngs made things very comfortable for the local buccaneers.

Rock was not the kind of guy to get "right to work", though, as he had a little substance abuse problem that really got in the way of his buccaneering. According to sources in Port Royal Rock, though not a good looking or particularly well kept individual, was the soul of fellowship and manners when he was sober. The problem was that sobriety seemed to be a difficult bird to catch for the Rock.

When Rock was drunk even his associates took the long way around to avoid him entirely. He was known to fly off into a rage for no more reason than a person looking at him funny or refusing to share a glass with him. It was not uncommon for Rock, in a drunken rage, to, choke, pummel, cut off digits or limbs and in some cases kill. The general word in Port Royal was that, if Rock gave you the stink eye, it was best to just submit. Putting up a fight would probably mean death. Refusal to do so might mean you would keep you fingers and toes. Maybe.

The more civilized side of Rock made him a reliable Captain and it may be that he did not drink at sea - although that's probably stretching it. He had some marginal success raiding Spanish merchants off the Yucatan Peninsula until his ship was captured and he and his crew were secured in the dungeons at Campeche, Mexico. Rock, clearly sober at the time, wrote a letter to the Governor of Campeche posing as the Captain of a pirate fleet that was en route to destroy the city if the prisoners were not released. This was during the famous raids of the buccaneer navy of Captain Myngs and doubtless the Governor felt inclined to avoid the worst and take no chances. He publicly ordered a stay of execution for Rock and his men, but loaded them onto a galley bound for Spain where their punishment could be dealt out safely.

Somehow, Rock managed to escape from the Spanish galley - although the fate of his men is unknown - and make it back to Port Royal. Rather than learn from his mistakes, Rock got right back on the horse, got a new ship and crew and headed for Yucatan. He was again captured by the Spanish and transferred to the fortress at Campeche. This time the Governor was on to his game. He turned Rock over to the Holy Inquisition as an unrepentant heretic and the real fun began. The torture went on for days, Rock being a strong guy, but finally our buccaneer broke down. Some historians say that he revealed a stash of treasure on an island off the Carolinas. But there is no real record of what became of Rock after he was consigned to the Inquisitors. One has to imagine that, in the usual fashion of the Church/State arrangement established in Europe, Rock was returned to the Governor for execution. The Church surely couldn't be responsible for killing a man, after all.

Rock Brasilliano was one of the fringe buccaneers whose legendary crazy and one brilliant turn with the Governor of Campeche meant we know his name today. Maybe if he had looked more like our modern day Rock he would have done a little better for himself. I'm pretty sure my daughter would say so.

People: The Puritan Privateer

Because I am the lucky lass who won the Every Damn Comic of Solomon Kane Ever Contest over at the generous CRwM's wonderful blog, I decided to pull a Puritan privateer out of my bag of tricks today. Come on, what's better than hot Puritan booty after all?

Sir Christopher Myngs was born in Norfolk, England in 1625 and joined the Royal Navy as a boy. When the English Civil War broke out, Myngs jumped on Cromwell's bandwagon and was promoted to Captain shortly thereafter. He was in command of CS (that's "Commonwealth Ship") Marston Moor of 44 guns in 1655 when Cromwell tapped him to protect English interests in Jamaica.

Myngs arrived in Port Royal in January of 1656 and sized up the situation rather quickly. England had only held Jamaica for about six months and with nothing but Spanish territories all around her, the hold was tenuous at best. Myngs decided the best defense was a good offense and set to raiding Spanish settlements directly. Since England was at war with Spain (and just about everybody else) at the time, Myngs' English letter of marque made his adventures technically legal.

First, Myngs enlisted the help of the buccaneers who cruised around Jamaica. He legitimized their raids on Spanish ships and shipping and guaranteed them a safe port of call in return for their help. In May of 1656, Myngs and his buccaneer buddies raided Santa Marta, Venezuela, showing Spain that they were a force to be reckoned with. By 1657, Myngs was in command of the English navy's Jamaica squadron which now included buccaneer vessels. A win/win situation for everyone but the Spanish.

Although he failed to capture a fleet of Spanish treasure ships, in 1658 Myngs led raids on Columbia and Venezuela that netted him well over a quarter of a million English pounds. As popular leaders so frequently do, Myngs thumbed his nose at the Governor of Jamaica and shared out the entire haul with his men rather than set some aside for the government. Of course, the powers that be weren't too thrilled with Myngs' attitude and, upon his return to Port Royal, the privateer was placed in chains and shipped back to England. There to be tried for embezzlement.

Our Puritan hero was nothing if not lucky, though, and upon his arrival in England he found the Commonwealth falling apart. When Charles II returned and took the throne, the case against Myngs was dismissed. By 1662 he was back in the Caribbean as a Captain in the Royal Navy aboard HMS Centurion. It was a new world, with the British crown restored and England now at peace with Spain. Myngs just didn't see it that way, though.

Myngs, now at the head of a combined naval and buccaneer flotilla of a dozen ships that included Dutch and French pirates as well, led a raid on Santiago, Cuba followed by another on San Francisco, Mexico. Captured in the raids were not only goods and cash but fourteen Spanish ships as well. The Spanish government protested this treatment and Charles II forbid further raids. Myngs was called home and his buccaneer pals went back to their old ways.

In 1665, Myngs was promoted to Vice-Admiral. He took part in the Second Dutch War and was knighted for his bravery. Shortly thereafter, in August of 1666, he was killed by Dutch cannon fire. A fitting end, really, for someone who spent his life adventuring on the high seas.

Myngs, the Puritan privateer, died a distinguished naval hero. His legacy was not only the establishment of Port Royal as a pirate base but his policy of harassing the Spanish encouraged Henry Morgan in his piratical career which brought him ultimately to the Governorship of Jamaica. OK, Myngs was no Solomon Kane, but then who is?

Sailor Mouth Saturday: Scuttlebutt

Scuttlebutt. Webster gives two definitions but if you ask the average lubber he'll probably tell you that it means gossip or an unverified rumor. The scuttlebutt in the picture above would have something to do with mutiny. But originally the scuttlebutt was a tangible item and a fixture on board ship.

What was then known as a cask and what we now call a barrel was lashed in place on deck, generally to the mainmast on larger ships such as frigates or men-of-war. In the sloops and schooners popular with pirates and privateers you might find it tied to the foremast or somewhere else on the forecastle (that would be the foc'sul to you, mate). A square hole was cut out at the bung (feel free to giggle like Mike Rowe on "Dirty Jobs"; it is a funny word) and fresh water was poured into the cask. A ladle or dipper was hung from the hole and men could stop and refresh themselves whenever needed. That cask was the scuttlebutt and it was found on almost every ship, although in times of short rations it might be empty.

Sailors off duty or between chores might stop at the scuttlebutt for a drink and then hang out a while, like judges at a bar. Of course the ship's gossip would come up and that is were the term as it is used today came from. "What's the scuttlebutt, mate?" was a common question and it carried over to time spent on land. Even when there wasn't a scuttlebutt to drink from, there was scuttlebutt to discuss.

So go forth and get the scuttlebutt, Brethren. Let me know what you find out.